See, I had always loved to brag. Even when I was little, I loved to go around telling people awesome stuff about myself. But somewhere along the way, I had lost it. My boasts had fallen away like pebbles out of a hole in my pocket. Where had it gone, the courage to tell complete strangers about my preternaturally fast metabolism, my ability to put my feet behind my head? And so the first part of my journey would take me to India to brag. To brag as freely as I wished in the marketplaces and hovels and temples. To shout of my own virtues upon the banks of the Pangiswani river, which isn’t even a real river, but a river that I made up because I am incredible at making up names of rivers. See what I mean?

And then, from India, I would go to Iran. Not to delve into politics or foment revolution, no, to do something I had always dreamed of doing. To take part in something at once large and microscopic: to build nuclear weapons.

And finally to Iceland, because it starts with “I,” where I would wear a banana costume for four months. Because I have a banana costume and I want to go to Iceland for free.

If I were Picasso, we’d call this my “blah” period. It’s a time when I feel like absolute moose dung and everything that happens sucks forever. If I could sum up how I feel it would be a video of me going, “Uuuuuuuuugh” for twenty minutes until I passed out in a pile of my own saliva.